


Love is You

by distinguished_like



Category: Beatle Girls, Linda Eastman, Linda McCartney - Fandom, Paul McCartney - Fandom, Paul/Linda, The Beatles
Genre: 1998, Angst, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 06:48:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/936674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distinguished_like/pseuds/distinguished_like
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There’s a sharp intake of breath, a fragile clenching around Paul’s hand, and one last look.<br/>One last look that still speaks with words.<br/>I love you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love is You

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off a quote by Paul that I stumbled across; I don't know how accurate it may be, but my musings as Paul are not his own - they are mine to be used in this fiction.  
> This is Linda's passing as I imagine it, and is not necessarily true to the real situation, although I tried to make it so.  
> I own nothing.
> 
> Must admit, I had a bit of a cry writing this myself, oops.  
> Comment what you thought? That'd be really great of you. Thank you!

The room’s dimly lit and the very fragrance surrounding them is honey-coated and homely, welcoming, just as every room she enters is.

The yellow glows of the little lamp at her bedside is all he looks at, because he can’t look at her, not yet – he’s spent what seems like his whole life staring at her in awe; even when he wasn’t really looking, he was always thinking; her face in his mind at all times, happy, smiling, laughing.

He pretends that he’s staring at the blurred shine of the sun through thick, Scottish, cloud covered skies. He’s sat on the hill, staring over the damp and gloomy bay that bears so many happy memories. But he’s alone. His imagination is splintering, slowly parting at the seams, the light he’s based his whole life on decaying and fleeing. A disease eating at his mind, his soul, his love.

Heather’s the first to say goodbye.

She was always the first, really. She was Linda’s first love, she was Paul’s first daughter, first baby at six-years-old – she was the physical epitome of new starts and the will to give, but she’s all grown up now, still ageing fast; her own life started as soon as the opportunity presented itself, jumping straight into college and art and pottery and Paul would never forget the time he received that heart-stopping phone call when Heather was barely in her mid-twenties; an unknown woman, startled. ‘ _She’s in the hospital,’_ she sobbed down the phone. ‘ _Sad – she, no, she’s – she’s depressed and – oh, I don’t know, just – get down here.’_

Although her emotional stability reformed over time, and she progressed into her art work and moved away and all around, Paul never forgot the fragility of her; he thought of her weakness as a child, her thin legs and arms and the way she would stumble when she ran across the beach after Martha in her new wellingtons that were always a little bit too big for her. Paul thought, when she crawled across the mattress to bury her face in her mother’s shoulders, weeping already – _that’s the same girl, she never left_ – _that’s Heather_. That’s _our_ Heather. And Heather and Linda together, were one another’s soul mates.

Linda’s voice is frail yet somehow still able to sound strong with some sort of determination – a mother’s wisdom. “Heather, stop it now, no crying – come on, let’s not be silly,” she soothes, and it strikes a chord in Paul, that ‘ _let’s not be silly_ ’, because the fourteen-year-old in him remembers a woman saying the same thing to his little brother before they left home to let her fade away alone.

Linda wouldn’t be alone.

Stella and Mary, though younger than Heather, sit on either side of where Linda lies, and they don’t cry. Paul realises that they went over to her together for a reason, and that was to hide weakness behind numbers – to be there for each other; to not let the other crumble.

Mary’s sitting with her legs crossed on the empty half of the bed, her arms protectively wrapping around Heather’s rumbling, shuddering shoulders, her long, dark hair that so resembled what used to be Paul’s drooping over Heather’s face in a protective, curtain-like way. There was a time when Heather, older than Mary, had been inseparable with her younger sister; picking her up and spinning her around and helping Paul and Linda bathe her and dress her. That time was not now. Now it was Mary’s turn to be there for Heather.

Stella sits with her legs dangling off the edge of the bed, turned slightly to the side to face her mother, and she leans down and kisses all over Linda’s face, cherishing her, knowing that the inevitable time would come when cherishing would no longer be an available option. A few minutes pass and Paul watches from the little cushioned chair in the corner of the room, gnawing at his bottom lip.

Eventually, Heather’s heaving and sobbing subsides slightly and Mary leans down to Linda. Her lips are pinched together and she keeps on swallowing thickly, although she relaxes when Stella’s hand touches hers. Stella sits up again and tucks her light hair behind her ear, but never takes her eyes off Linda.

“Mum, we love you,” Mary whispers, kissing Linda’s cheeks. Paul misses the way Linda’s eyes glint at the softness of the words. She already knows. She knows they do. But to hear it is another thing. “We love you so much, Mum, and we can’t – I can’t tell you how… how…”

“Mummy, we love you,” Stella picks up where Mary’s unable to continue. “We’ll always love you, Mummy. We just can’t… we can’t imagine what it’ll be like when you’re – when you’re…”

Suddenly, from the doorway, James appears. He was there all along, Paul knows, but he stood in the shadow of the hallway, hiding away. Paul’s heart swells fondly, a father’s pride, when James wraps his arms around Stella and pulls her towards him, hugging her tightly – Mary takes Linda’s hands and, like Paul, gnaws at her bottom lip, her nose crinkling as she tries with valiant effort not to cry, whereas now Stella sobs freely, the wall herself and Mary had tried to build around each other breaking down completely.  

James has always been a man of few words. Unlike Paul, he only allowed himself to shine when he was singing on a stage with his guitar. Although foreshadowed by his father’s fame, he never let it affect him too much. When he performed, he was his own person. When he was not performing, he was quiet, pleasant and warm.

James shares a quick glance with Paul that Paul barely just catches, because not even a marginal second later, James is looking over Stella’s shoulder at Linda.

Paul still can’t bring himself to look for a prolonged moment at Linda, but he hears a pitiful whimper that was supposed to be a laugh escape her throat, and he assumes that James has mimed something over Stella’s shoulder at her. A silent goodbye, an ‘ _I love you’._

 _Man of few words,_ Paul thinks, and smiles tightly.

The kids are still around her. Heather’s head’s in Mary’s lap, Stella’s face buried in James’ shoulder. It’s nice to see them all together like that, permanently connected. The family that Paul and Linda had created together.

He knows that there’s nobody left but him now. When he brings his eyes back into focus, Linda’s already looking at him. He doesn’t know how long she’s been looking for, but she’s trying to sit herself up, so he knows that she’s calling out to him – it’s a thing you learn to do, when you have kids, when you live right on top of each other. You don’t always have time to talk, so you have conversations through looks, the tiny actions you learn to pick up on. You become your own language, and you become one being between two.

James is observant. While the girls cling onto the time they have left with Linda, the little boy of the family sees further, and he knows what has to be done when he pinpoints his mum’s gaze to his dad in the corner, and he shakes Stella softly. When Stella lifts her head, she looks between Linda and Paul and nods, moving away willingly, not bothering to ask questions.

Paul’s knees are overwhelmingly weak. He can’t move yet, can’t look at Linda as she struggles. It’s pathetic, really, to hold off the whole world as if it cares to wait for you. It doesn’t. If it did, it would have given him more time. Just some more time.

With _everyone_.

With his mum, with Brian, with his dad, with John, with his children who are all now independent of him. With Linda, who’s looking at him, but not speaking. _Why isn’t she speaking?_ Paul thinks, but realises. She can’t anymore. It’s attacking her, clawing at her. Taking her away from him – her hair, her strength, her voice. Her life.

But what of her soul?

What of her love?

When Paul diverts his gaze to the lamp at Linda’s bedside, this time, he isn’t sat upon a hill under a cloudy, lifeless sky.

The lamp shines brighter and the clouds aren’t covering its light – the sun is out, the clouds are gone; the waves hitting the distant sands and pebbles are making the same repetitive noise, _hush, hush,_ like her spirit is calming him, urging him towards her, dragging him into her embrace, faithful as the sea, always present.

But Linda’s spirit isn’t the sea. It isn’t the sharp Scottish winds filling Paul’s head. Her spirit is not the Earth and its definitive rock with its warm, burning core. Her soul is _herself_ , and she’s _there_ , now. There in his imagination; young, smiling, happy.

He blinks, and he’s back in reality. Linda’s eyes are reaching out to him, calling for him.

Paul nods his head to himself. He knows what to say.

His legs are barely able to carry him, but he makes it across the room and now he’s sat where Stella had been before – legs off the side of the bed, staring down at Linda.

He stumbles over his words, his mouth dry, his throat closed. Linda’s there and she looks different. She looks frail and uncertain, unknowing, frightened.

This isn’t the first time they’ve shared the same feelings and fears.

But now they’re at opposite ends of the telescope and what’s different here is that Linda is unknowing of the darkness; she’s scared to leave, scared to meet the end; Paul, however, is scared to go on living. With a daunting shudder, Paul realises that he fears a life without Linda. As far as he is concerned, that is the equivalent to the dark oblivion that she fears herself.

But Paul doesn’t want her to be scared.

What’s left of the light in him he conjures, and he strokes through the almost scalp-short dark hair that used to be long, bouncy and bright. Her eyes captivate him and _they_ haven’t aged or weakened with the rest of her body. They’re the same, and they still glow when she looks at him.

Their children are suddenly invisible, and it’s Paul and Linda. Just Paul and Linda.

Paul closes his eyes briefly and feels Linda’s cold hand and weak fingers curl around his own and he clings back onto her with strength, as if trying to give her his warmth and his life, because he knows that without her, he doesn’t want it anymore.

When Linda squeezes back, his eyes open. Colour returns, and he talks.

“You, uh … You’re up on your beautiful Appaloosa stallion…” he starts, his voice odd and foreign to himself, but it’s his own words and he’s almost proud of himself for finding them at all. “It’s a fine spring day…” he continues softly, and he notices that Linda’s eyes are staring out his features intently, trying to find _him;_ the cosmic love between two souls that cannot be seen by the naked eye. He tightens his grip on her hand slightly and swallows thickly.

“ _We’re_ riding through the woods.”

He knew that would help her, somehow: the use of that ‘ _we’re_ ’ – _us_. Two beings, together.

The blue eyes that were once wide and searching desperately relax, and her face changes – morphs into somebody so recognisable it hurts.

Her sun-kissed locks of unstyled blonde hair return and her wrinkles along with any visible evidence of any illness disappear – she’s young, she’s full of life. She’s fresh in love.

Somehow, Paul knows what Linda’s seeing when she looks at him, too. She’s seeing long, dark eyelashes, a head of thick, raven hair, gradually lengthening stubble; a soft, toothy grin as his nose crinkles up with the corners of his lips. She sees him how Paul wants her to remember him, the way he remembers her.

When two souls meet and connect, it is that moment that carries them through their lives together. You cannot trace back a moment using a _soul;_ you cannot see a feeling and think, ‘ _ah, that was at_ that _particular time_.’ But you _can_ connect a feeling to a physical memory, a living picture that was once there before you.

They’re seeing each other raw and uncorrupted, oblivious to the future, willing to let things just _happen._

They’re doing the same now.

They’re letting it be.

But now, instead of looking ahead, they’re letting go.

Paul knows there’s nothing more that needs saying, because Linda’s eyes look somewhat clouded over, like she’s floating around in her mind, her spirit bursting to escape. But there’s an instinct telling him to continue talking, so that his voice is certain to be the last voice she hears as a physical body.

“The bluebells are all out…” He whispers, his voice cracking as he feels his eyes begin to burn softly, his sight glazing over with sparkles of tears. But he can’t cry for her. Not yet, not while she’s still there. “…And the sky is clear blue…”

There’s a sharp intake of breath, a fragile clenching around Paul’s hand, and one last look.

One last look that still speaks with words.

_I love you._

Linda’s eyes close, her chest heaves once, and then there’s stillness – she’s sleeping; she’s gone away with the clouds now. She’s free. As she should be.

The room is dimly lit. The very fragrance surrounding them is sour and dry – just as every room she leaves is left.

**Author's Note:**

> “In the end, she went quickly with very little discomfort, and surrounded by her loved ones. The kids and I were there when she crossed over. They each were able to tell her how much they loved her. Finally I said to her: ‘You’re up on your beautiful Appaloosa stallion; it’s a fine spring day, we’re riding through the woods. The bluebells are all out, and the sky is clear blue.’ I had barely got to the end of the sentence when she closed her eyes and slipped away.”  
> \- Paul McCartney.


End file.
